


Library Check-Out

by KisstheRainWriting



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: And some nose touching, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Oooo, Reader is The Doctor's Companion (Doctor Who), Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, The Ponds being snoops, There's a lot of smacking people with books
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23438614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KisstheRainWriting/pseuds/KisstheRainWriting
Summary: You discover the Doctor’s ~quirky~ habit of ripping out the last page of every book. The Ponds discover an intimate moment they’d rather forget.
Relationships: Amy Pond/Rory Williams, Eleventh Doctor/Reader, The Doctor (Doctor Who) & Reader, The Doctor (Doctor Who)/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 117





	Library Check-Out

“It’s hard to explain how it feels, being in here,” you said, leaning against a desk, weight on your palms. The TARDIS library, with its levels and levels of shelves, engulfed you. You’d been working your way through it with the Doctor, learning the names of different galaxies, literary periods, and famous authors. You’d decided to start with the shelf closest to the doors and were now about three shelves over. “It’s sort of like being with you, actually.”  
  
The Doctor looked up from a purple book with a holographic cover. He gave you a teasing grin, hair falling into his face. “Not your best comparison, considering you _are_ with me.” His eyebrows rose. “Unless this is one of those times ‘being with’ gets fuzzy. So _many_ possible meanings with you.”  
  
You kicked him with the toe of your sneaker. “Oh, I do love it when you talk dirty with me. But that’s not what I meant.”  
  
“You need some sort of signal.” The Doctor’s mouth scrunched up. He dropped the book onto the desk to have free reign with his hands as he talked. “Wave your arms, ‘look, I’m flirting,’ something simple. Start every sentence that’s meant to be seductive with that, we’ll never go wrong.”  
  
“I meant,” you interrupted, grinning in spite of yourself, “that it’s sort of overwhelming.”  
  
He perked up. “Oh, no, I do like where this is going.”  
  
“It’s enormous,” you continued, set on finishing your explanation. “And there’s so much of everything at once, but it’s sort of like home at the same time. Is that too cheesy?”  
  
“No.” The Doctor’s smile broadened. “Well, yes, actually. But I enjoyed it immensely. To summarize,” He tucked his book back onto its shelf, then did an odd little spin with one arm lifted, which you assumed was supposed to be an expression of his brand of ‘come-hither’ allure. You tried very hard not to snort. “You think I’m awe-inspiring. Like my library.”  
  
“And full of yourself too, the metaphor’s pretty versatile.”  
  
“Yes, full of knowledge. And adventure.”  
  
“And really, really, really,” your voice softened, and you took a step toward him. The Doctor leaned forward, swallowing. Your mouth made it all the way to his cheek before it broke into a grin. “ _Old_.”  
  
He drew back, eyes narrowed toward the ceiling. “See, you didn’t wave your arms. Should have known where that was going.”  
  
“At least I didn’t snap your suspenders with the punchline.”  
  
“Small mercies today, I suppose.”  
  
You laughed, which made it too hard for him to keep up his pretend sulk. Picking up a grey book and ignoring how squishy its cover was, you flipped it open. “So, this one. Mee-yar-nock Schin-dray-eg?”  
  
“Mjarneuk Zhindrayejh.”  
  
“Mm, almost had it that time.”  
  
“Wardian novelist from the Orion nebula. Guaranteed to make you cry. Or at least sneeze.”  
  
“Hang on,” you said, looking over the first few pages. “This doesn’t make any sense. The TARDIS is translating properly, it’s in English—”  
  
The Doctor looked up from a new book he’d grabbed randomly. “Oh, Wardon writes right to left. You’re at the end of the book.”  
  
“…It still doesn’t make sense. Even if it’s the back, it breaks off mid-sentence and… oh, it’s torn. There are bits of paper still tucked into the binding. Oh, Doctor, I’m sorry—it’s ruined.”  
  
“That? Never mind that.” The Doctor shrugged, turning back to his book. “I tore it out.”  
  
“You _what_?”  
  
“Tore it out,” he repeated, voice drifting as he started to pay more attention to the illustration in his book. “I tear all of them out, the last pages. That way the story never has to end.” He turned his book to face you. “Look at this drawing of a Morrulpoid hermit. They’ve completely forgotten two of its forelegs, but what a smile.”  
  
An odd sucking noise clogged your throat, and the Doctor panicked for a moment, wondering if humans could choke on regular old air, and he’d just forgotten. “What?” he asked, eyes widening.  
  
“You just _ripped them out_? On purpose?”  
  
“Yes, just said that. Back to the funny illustration. You’d think that if they’d studied a Morrulpoid long enough to get a precise count of its teeth, they’d have noticed that they’d missed two whole legs—“  
  
The spongy grey book in your hands connected with the Doctor’s arm, and he yelped, rubbing his elbow. “What was that for?”  
  
“All of these books? Biggest library I’ve ever seen, and you’ve hurt every single book in it!”  
  
“Says the woman beating me with the only surviving copy of Zhindrayejh’s best fiction!” the Doctor protested, trying to shield himself.  
  
You paused in your assault, mouth falling open. “It’s the _last copy_? And you _ripped out its last page_?”  
  
“So that its story never really ends—ow!”  
  
“ _You vandalized thousands of books based on a quirky sentiment?_ ”  
  
The Doctor struggled for the book as you whopped him with it on the shoulder. “It’s poetic!” he cried. “Shouldn’t you be trying to—analyze—what this says—stop hitting me, Y/N!—about my inability to—let go—or something?”  
  
You let loose something like a growl, trying to wrestle the book you’d weaponized from the Doctor’s grip. “You can be so overdramatic, I swear—“  
  
The Doctor grunted. Your anger made you stronger than you looked. “Again, look who’s hitting whom here—“  
  
The two of you let out twin squeaks as your fight caused you to topple over the side of the leather reading sofa nearby. The Doctor landed on top of you, causing half the air to woosh out of your body.  
  
He winced. “Ah, sorry, that’s your squashed face.”  
  
“Yeah, well spotted,” you huffed out. The Doctor scanned your face for a moment, a smile beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth. You frowned. “If you make me say get off when it should be self-explanatory, I’ll have to stop both of your hearts.”  
  
The Doctor’s smile turned into that dorky little smirk that warned you to brace yourself, and he waggled his head. “You already have, dear.”  
  
You tried to stifle a laugh and still look angry. “That was absolutely awful. What are you doing with your neck?”  
  
“Well,” he lifted himself so that his weight was supported by his forearms, with you still pinned beneath him on the sofa, “I don’t exactly have free hands to wave around.”  
  
“You’re trying to seduce me?”  
  
The Doctor grinned, lowering his head so that his nose brushed yours. His voice lowered. “Is it working?”  
  
“No. I’m still cross,” you mumbled. His nose grazed over the side of your face until he was nuzzling your cheek. You could hear your voice getting airier, and it was incredibly frustrating. “There are so many books, and—and—“  
  
“I can tell you the endings, later,” he murmured, breath hot on your neck. “I’ve got a great memory, can’t get them out of my head, even after they’re ripped. Later.”  
  
“I—“  
  
“First, I think we should return to that question about ‘being with.’ Still seems a bit vague.”  
  
“Well, I suppose that today was supposed to be about being thorough…”  
  
“No signal needed for that one, darling.”

*****

Amelia Pond pursed her lips and drummed her fingernails against the TARDIS console. Surveying the control room with zero interest, she bit the inside of her cheek before announcing, “I’m bored.”

Behind her, Rory tensed, nearly dropping his mug of hot chocolate. He’d come to associate Amy’s boredom with ill-fitting clothing, poorly thought out shenanigans, and having to blame his speeding tickets on his senile gran, which still kept him up some nights. “No, you’re not.” He tried to grin at her, but it sort fell flat. “We’re in a time machine, Amy, floating around the center of the universe. You can’t be bored. There’s no way.” Amy stared at him, long, hard, and he swallowed. “Right, no, sorry. You’re bored. Really bored, understandably bored. I’m actually a bit bored too, now that you’ve… mentioned it.”  
  
She rolled her eyes and strode away from the console. Her cowboy boots clacked against the paneling. “All of anywhere and anytime, he tells me.” She looked up at the ceiling, voice rising. “Then where is the big dope?”  
  
Rory looked around, half expecting the Doctor to pop up covered in soot or sporting a sombrero. When nothing happened, he shrugged. “I dunno, I haven’t seen him since breakfast. Or Y/N, actually.”  
  
“Off flirting. Figures,” Amy huffed. “I have needs too, you know.”  
  
His eyes narrowed, resigned agitation more than anything else. “You do know how weird that sounds, yeah?”  
  
“Where do they go, do you think?” Amy asked, twirling a strand of her hair and ignoring him. She stopped with her finger pointing straight up, her eyes lit with suspicion. “What if they’re not even on the TARDIS?”  
  
“That’s ridiculous.”  
  
“Is it?” Amy crossed her arms. “It’s massive. They could just say they’d popped off to the beach room for a swim when really they’d been surfing on the tail of a comet wearing matching jumpers. And we’d never know.”  
  
“We have a beach room?”  
  
She waved at him dismissively. “Well, I don’t know, but we might. And I’m going to find it.”  
  
Rory tilted his head. “Really? I was thinking, you know, this may be the first morning in we’ve had for _some time_ , and who knows the next time this’ll happen? Me, you. Alone.” Amy stared at him until he deflated. “Right, no, of course. We should definitely hunt them down. Not like there are any alternatives. Any more pleasant alternatives. Alternatives that—”  
  
“Come on,” Amy interrupted, pulling him forward toward the hall. “You’re a talented bloke, you can do both at once—walk and gripe, walk and gripe.”  
  
If there were a beach room, Rory didn’t think he was meant to ever see to it. Which was probably best, because Amy burnt like white bread in an aggressive toaster oven, and he never fared much better. After wandering about for what felt like an hour and opening dozens of doors, he slumped against a wall. “Where even are we?”  
  
Amy frowned at their surroundings. “I think we ended up somewhere near the wardrobe?”  
  
He sighed, then flicked his head toward the door across from him. “I vote that this is the last one we check. Then we assume they’re comet-surfing or whatever, and I’m having a bit of a nap.”  
  
She didn’t press it into an argument, probably because her boots were starting to feel heavy. The door was large, thick and wooden, and it was already cracked. Amy pulled on it gently, and as it opened, her mouth dropped. “Oh my God.”  
  
“What?”  
  
A soft, very personal noise came from the library, and Rory froze.  
  
“Are they…?” Rory left the front of the question to hang there.  
  
“No,” Amy said. “No, no, no.” There was a light thudding noise, and her eyes widened, “Yes. Oh, definitely yes.”  
  
Rory ran a hand through his hair as he looked up to the TARDIS ceiling. Amy just raised her eyebrows, and was still peering through the doorway when he grabbed her arm. “No, that’s it. I’m uncomfortable. Officially uncomfortable. We’re leaving.”  
  
“Oh please, they’re just having a snog. Clothes on and everything. Mostly.” She brushed him away. Rory grimaced.  
  
“Please don’t, I’m not thinking about it. That is too weird. They’re… _them_!”  
  
She scrunched up her face in mock-sympathy. “Oh, you walked in on your parents doing it as a kid, didn’t you?”  
  
He massaged his temples. “We said we wouldn’t mention that again, Amy.”  
  
This time, her face was actually apologetic, and a little sheepish. “Right. Sorry about that, forgot.”  
  
“… Just wondering, sort of scared to know, but why would you want to look?”  
  
Amy shrugged, still squinting through the crack. “They’re here, and I’m bored.” She swiveled her head, searching for the words. “Plus, it’s sort of like watching a dog walk on its hind legs. Or a pig eating holiday ham. I didn’t think they’d, well, _he_ would even know how to—you know.”  
  
Rory didn’t question the comparisons. “No, I get it. I mean, they’re at it all the time. Sassy-little-one-liners, the weird noses-almost-touching thing he does. Still, though, he just seems like… like…”  
  
“Like he’d be so awkward they’d both drown in it?” Amy suggested. “Yeah, apparently not. They both seem to know what they’re doing.” She whistled under her breath before muttering, “Actually, they’re pretty good at it.”  
  
“Not as good as us, right?” Rory asked after a very long pause.  
  
Amy glanced over at him. “Oh, right, nowhere near us.”  
  
Rory cleared his throat, leaning against the wall with one elbow and feigning nonchalance. He failed miserably. Awkwardly, he crossed one leg in front of the other. “Good. Because it’s great for us.” His eyebrows lifted. “Isn’t it?”  
  
“God,” Amy huffed out a laugh, head tilted back. “Yeah! It’s great.”  
  
“Good. …That’s not your sarcastic voice, is it?”  
  
Her laugh fell, and after a pause, “Do _you_ think I should be using my sarcastic voice?”  
  
Her eyes were narrowed, almost into slits, one gingery eyebrow cocked. Rory snapped into survival mode. “I—what? No! Why would you—that’s not what I meant, not at all. I meant—what I was trying to—I offered to snog with you _this morning_ , when we started dating I thanked you every single time we made out– for _two months_ until you told me to knock it off, how is this remotely a question?”  
  
He tried to straighten but tripped over his own crossed legs. Amy flinched as he went barreling into the oak door, which ricocheted off the door frame, leaving the library’s entrance fully open.  
  
“Ouch,” Amy hissed, kneeling beside Rory and flailing for him to be quiet. “Move—move your hands, let me look! Stop flinching, Rory, I’m not even touching anything!”  
  
The Doctor’s voice, which to Rory’s dismay was noticeably huskier than normal, rang out from the library. “Oi, Ponds! What are you—oh. _Oh_! Wait just a minute!”  
  
“Oh, God,” Amy sunk to the floor.   
  
“And after all of the lectures from you two on _privacy_!”

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: This is very, very old. Crusty and old. First time it’s being put on AO3, though, and I fancied it up for the occasion with the most slapdash editing session ever. This is like the only time I wrote for Eleven when I was first active in the fandom, or the Ponds, and I’m not sure why? I love ‘em? Might have to give them a little more attention at some point. 
> 
> Lemme know what you think, she says awkwardly, not sure how to finish and solicit your kindness outside of the third person. Jesus. 
> 
> Also, I hope you're doing okay.
> 
> I don't know how notes work on here, alright?


End file.
